[Celebrity Murder Case 07] - The Marlene Dietrich Muder Case Read online

  There was at that moment a sudden lull in conversation so that her baritone broke the sonic boon and all eyes were on the three women. Adela suggested they link arms and do a time step, while Tallulah suggested to Marlene, “Here’s an opportunity to make a brief speech on behalf of the United Jewish Appeal.” Most of the guests upon seeing Tallulah resumed talking to each other or whatever they were doing, assuming Tallulah was once again in her cups, not the ones keeping her breasts firm. “You’ll have to forgive me, dahlings, but it seems I’m always prone to commanding attention when I least desire it. Now there’s something I could desire.”

  Herb Villon returned and Marlene introduced him to Tallulah. Tallulah persisted. “All right, dahling. Who murdered that poor unfortunate?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I hope you’re not as simple as your answers!”

  “Herb Villon is much more complicated than you think,” said Marlene, coming to his rescue. “He’s a brilliant detective and you must take my word for it; I’ve been working shoulder to shoulder with him the past twenty-four hours and I have nothing but respect and admiration for this man.”

  Tallulah said to Adela, “I suppose that’s what drove his girlfriend to drink.”

  Monte Trevor descended on them. “Tallulah Bankhead and Marlene Dietrich under the same roof!”

  “Why not, dahling? We were invited.” Dietrich introduced them.

  “How I would love to see you both in the same film,” enthused Trevor.

  “Why not Uncle Tom’s Cabin? I’ll do Topsy and Marlene would be a divine Eva. Or better still, why not round up Greta Garbo and Jean Harlow and we could do Little Women.”

  “You’re pulling my leg,” said Monte Trevor.

  “Don’t hold your breath. And who’s this dear little chap?” Dong See had quietly entered the scene. “You seem to resemble that violinist I heard in Carnegie Hall a few years ago.”

  “Permit me to introduce myself. I am Dong See, the violinist.”

  “Well dahling, you were nothing short of miraculous.”

  Marlene stepped in swiftly. “Miracles seem to favor Dong See. He was almost killed in an automobile accident.” There was no expression on Dong See’s face, and no lack of expression in Marlene’s voice. “Why wasn’t it international news at the time, darling?” She continued to the others. “He was so badly crippled, they feared for his life.”

  “Who is ‘they,’ dahling?” asked Tallulah, who was running low on bourbon.

  “‘They’ in general,” said Marlene airily. “They hid him away in a Swiss clinic for six months. How did you endure it, Dong?”

  “Where did you learn all this?” asked Dong See, not looking particularly pleased.

  “A mutual friend is here in Hollywood. She probably hasn’t been able to get in touch with you. She arrived last night. Brunhilde Messer.”

  “Oh. Brunhilde is here in Hollywood?” He might have been giving a stock market quotation, his voice was so dull and lifeless.

  Marlene couldn’t resist. She repeated Hitler’s invitation by way of Brunhilde. Bankhead was impressed.

  “I never ever get any invitations like that,” said Tallulah mournfully. “Nobody ever puts me on a pedestal unless it’s to measure me for a dress.”

  Marlene said to Dong See, “You don’t sound terribly enthusiastic.”

  “Perhaps she gave you the mistaken impression that she and I are close friends. We met a few times in Berlin, but it was never more than that.”

  “How strange.” Marlene handed Villon her glass and he went in search of more champagne. “She seemed so surprised that you were at my party. Even more surprised that you had completely recovered. Was there a rumor that you had been killed?”

  “There are always rumors about me. They seem to favor me much the same as these miracles you attribute to me.”

  Our suspects are liars.

  “Well, Brunhilde seemed genuinely delighted to hear you had completely recovered.”

  Herb Villon returned with Raymond Souvir in tow. Marlene accepted the champagne gratefully while Bankhead wandered off for more bourbon. Adela Rogers St. John was like a sponge, absorbing information and innuendos, and when the opportunity presented itself she introduced herself to Dong See. She had met Monte Trevor on another occasion and Novarro had introduced her to Souvir earlier at the party. She knew Marlene was up to something, and whatever it was Marlene had it in complete control.

  Marlene said to Souvir, “Raymond, did you know Brunhilde Messer is in town?”

  “Brunhilde Messer?” Dong See shot him a look that did not escape Dietrich. “Oh, of course. Brunhilde. It’s been so, longl”

  “Not all that long,” corrected Marlene. “She said she recently brought you to Berlin to test for the part of The Red Baron.”

  “Yes, she did, but so much has happened to me since then, I guess I forgot.” He cleared his throat. “Did she mention if she has abandoned the project?”

  “No. I wasn’t that interested. I would doubt that she has. I’ve known Brunhilde since I was a kid starting in show business. Brunhilde never abandons anything. Adela, do you remember her?”

  “And how. Years ago she sang in San Francisco. I was there. Terrific voice. Has she given it up?”

  “She is now a film producer and director.”

  “Aha! Following in Leni Riefenstahl’s footsteps.”

  “Nobody follows in Leni’s footsteps. She never leaves tracks.”

  Adela smiled at the group in general. “With so many international notables in town, sounds to me like there might be some kind of conspiracy brewing.”

  Marlene said grandly. “Adela is so wise. She doesn’t miss a thing. You’re one smart woman, Adela.”

  “That’s a compliment 1 like, especially coming from another smart woman.”

  Villon finally spoke. “What kind of conspiracy, Adela? You have anything particular in mind?”

  “Nothing really special. There are so many varieties and assortments. They’re the kind of stories I try to specialize in. It brings in a wonderful cross section of scoundrels, rogues, and vagabonds.”

  “And murderers,” added Villon.

  “Oh, thank heaven for murderers,” said Adela. “My father, who, if you didn’t know, was the great criminal lawyer Earl Rogers …”

  “I must do a movie about him!” cried Trevor.

  He was ignored as Adela continued, “… and as a girl, I sat in on most of his trials. Trials that made his fortune, which as everyone knows he largely drank and squandered away. Murderers always fascinate me. But our American murderers don’t hold a candle to your European ones. They’re so much more colorful, so much more bloodthirsty, so much more imaginative.” She indicated Raymond. “You French have one of the greatest mass murderers, Bluebeard.” She zeroed in on Trevor. “And the British have so many, I’ve lost count. And you, Marlene, who can hold a candle to the Dusseldorf killer?” Dong See stood with his arms folded. “China has had more than its share of brutal murders. I can’t say too much on behalf of Italy and the Iberian countries. They may be hot-blooded but apparently they’re coolheaded. And what have we got to show for it here in the good old U.S. of A.? Ruth Snyder and Judd Grey, two colorless drabs who kill her husband for his insurance. Why don’t you do a movie about that, Mr. Trevor?”

  “Oh, no. As you say, much too colorless and much too drab.”

  “Have you heard, Adela,” Marlene was saying, “Raymond is screen-testing tomorrow.”

  “Good luck to you, Raymond.” Adela’s good wishes were genuine.

  “My luck is with Marlene. She’s doing it with me, and von Sternberg is directing.”

  “No kidding! Which one are you sleeping with?”

  “Adela, behave yourself,” Marlene remonstrated. Raymond was extremely uncomfortable, and Villon was enjoying himself immensely and glad that Hazel was out of the picture while sleeping it off.

  “How I envy Raymond,” said Dong See.

  Marlene had that
familiar wicked look in her eye again. “You know, you should be screen-tested too.” Dong See was startled. “You’re young, you’re handsome, a violin virtuoso. That’s what films are really lacking today, good, serious music. I’m going to talk to Ben Schulberg at Paramount. He must whip together a script for you and Anna May Wong. I noticed last night how much you complement each other in looks.”

  “I’m not an actor, Marlene,” Dong See demurred.

  “Oh, I think you are.”

  Careful, Marlene, careful, thought Herb Villon.

  There was no stopping Dietrich. “Everybody’s an actor. We professionals are in a class apart because we study, we train, we work hard to find a foothold in our profession, and once we’ve arrived we fight hard to hold on to our positions. But to the layman, whom we refer to as civilians, every day requires acting. It’s all a world of make-believe out there. Husbands and wives have to act as though they love each other long after the dew is off the rose. Shopkeepers have to act all day as though they care about every customer with whom they do business. Professional men are constantly acting! The doctor telling a patient there’s little hope. The dentist assuring a patient there will be no pain. A lawyer or a prosecuting attorney trying to convince a jury of someone’s guilt or innocence. Children are the greatest natural actors in the world. You see, Dong, acting is lying. Just as writing novels and short stories is lying. Am I right, Adela?”

  She concurred. “Everybody lives a lie. Look at Tallulah. She’s making believe she’s having a terrific time. She’s hanging in because she probably has nowhere else to go except home. Look at the Countess di Frasso,” and they all looked because it was the first that they were aware she had arrived. And she was heading straight toward them. “… Dorothy di Frasso kids herself into thinking she’s one of the most desirable women in the world.”

  “I heard that Adela, and I don’t kid myself about anything. Have I interrupted anything important?”

  “We were discussing acting and lying,” said Marlene. “I claim both are the same.”

  Di Frasso took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter carrying a tray. “And what brought on so profound a discussion?”

  “I suggested Dong See should do a screen test,” said Marlene, “and he protests he is not an actor. And I say he is, everyone is.”

  “Even me?” asked the Countess in the process of raising the glass to her lips.

  “Especially you,” said Adela, who took every opportunity to needle the woman she considered an opportunistic parasite.

  “You’re so brave drinking from that glass,” said Marlene. “You don’t know where it’s been.”

  Di Frasso’s eyes narrowed. “What about your glass?”

  “Mr. Villon fetched it for me. He wouldn’t want to poison me.”

  “You’re sure?” joked Villon.

  “Quite sure,” replied Marlene.

  Di Frasso found a smile. “I don’t think my number is quite up … yet.” She sipped the champagne. “And anyway, there were several glasses on the waiter’s tray. They couldn’t all be poisoned.”

  “Just one,” said Dietrich, “sort of Russian roulette. Oh, drink your drink, you silly girl. I doubt if anybody is marked for death tonight.”

  Di Frasso’s eyes widened as she asked, “Where’s Anna May? I don’t see her. Wasn’t she invited?”

  Marlene said, “She decided not to come. As you know, having dropped in at my house and just missing us, we spent a very tiring afternoon.”

  Liar. That was Villon’s thought. But beautifully done.

  Marlene continued, “So she went home to rest and to contemplate. She deeply mourns Mai Mai Chu. They were very very close.”

  “Why do I suspect Anna May is at home studying some astrological charts she found in Mai Mai’s apartment?”

  Marlene laughed. “Dorothy, there were thousands in Mai Mai’s filing cabinets. If we were looking for any specific ones, it would have taken ages to locate them.”

  “My money’s on you, Marlene. You found what you were looking for.”

  “You’re so sure.”

  “If you hadn’t, you and detective Villon wouldn’t be here. You’d still be downtown searching. You don’t give up easily, Marlene; I know that.”

  “Quite right. But also quite wrong. Herb, shouldn’t you look in on Hazel? I’m not leaving just yet. Raymond, you should be at home studying your lines.”

  “I’ve already memorized them. I was hoping we could meet earlier at the studio tomorrow and go over the script together, rehearse a bit. I would so appreciate it.”

  “No need to worry about that, my dear. Von Sternberg is a martinet where rehearsals are concerned. Of course, he’s a martinet where everything else is concerned, but that’s another story that bores me. Dong See, why don’t you come to the studio tomorrow and give Raymond some immoral support,” Adela bit her lip.

  Monte Trevor said jovially, “Well, it looks like we’ll all be on the lot tomorrow. I’ve got a meeting with Cecil B. De-Mille.”

  Making his way through the crowded room, Villon was thinking, Marlene Dietrich, you are a very dangerous lady and you could just be asking for some trouble you don’t want.

  “Cecil B. DeMille. How impressive,” said Marlene flatly. “Adela, could I talk to you privately for a few minutes?” They excused themselves and walked out to the veranda.

  Making sure that no other guests were within earshot, Marlene took Adela’s arm and guided her down the stairs onto the lawn. “Adela, did you know Lewis Tate?”

  “Good grief, I haven’t heard that name in ages.”

  “Today he hung himself.”

  “Oh dear, the poor bastard.”

  Marlene told Adela of the circumstances leading up to Tate’s suicide. “I think passing out at my party was the last straw.”

  “No, the last straw made its appearance a long time ago. But he kept hanging on, hoping for a comeback, a chance to prove he could make it in talkies. He even failed at a chance in radio, and that wasn’t worth a hill of has-beens. You taking up a collection for his burial? I’ve got a spare twenty on me.”

  “No, I’m taking care of everything. I’ve arranged for a service in the chapel at Forest Lawn. The day after tomorrow at ten in the morning. Could you try to round up some people?”

  “I’ll do my damndest. I’ll try to round up some of his ex-wives. There’s enough of them to form a small crowd. Lewis Tate. Hung himself. Made a pass at me a couple of times. I’m sorry I didn’t take him up on it, well, at least once. He was quite a guy in his day.” They headed back to the house. “Marlene, what were you up to back there?”

  “Up to? Up to what?”

  “You know better than to try and kid me. All that stuff about everybody’s a liar. You made an impression, honey; I could tell by the looks on their faces. And somebody especially didn’t like the inference that he’s a liar.”

  “That’s good. That’s very very good.”

  “It more than likely could be bad, very very bad.”

  “I don’t think so. Anyway, Adela, I have a very special God who looks over me and protects me. Haven’t you suspected that by now?”

  “Oh, I knew a long time ago you stepped into a lot of that certain something that’s supposed to mean good luck. But murder is something else. You’re dealing with a steel-hearted killer.”

  “A conspirator?”

  “It seems to be pointing in that direction.”

  “You make me feel more confident. I’m glad you’re my friend, Adela Rogers St. John.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way, sweetie.” They rejoined the party in time to see Tallulah Bankhead attempting a high kick and falling heavily on her backside.

  “Okay, you sons of bitches,” she growled from the floor, “which one of you bastards pushed me?”

  THIRTEEN

  HERB VILLON, HAVING returned from looking in on Hazel Dickson, helped Tallulah to her feet. “Thank you, dahling, it’s comforting to know chivalry isn’t dea
d.” She now realized it was Herb who had come to her rescue. “Oh, it’s you, dahling,”—her voice was now a seductive purr— “have you any plans for Passover? But let me finish my story,” as though there was any stopping her, thought Adela. Tallulah said, for the benefit of Marlene, Adela, and Herb, while the three were being scrutinized by Dong See, Monte Trevor, and Raymond Souvir: “I was telling them about my sister getting rid of her girlfriend with a swift boot out the door. Well, dahlings, she had gotten to be a bit too much. An absolutely slovenly slattern. She always left the toilet seat up. What have you two been up to?” This was directed at Marlene and Adela.

  Villon was holding a match to the cigarette Marlene had in her mouth. Adela told Tallulah, “We were talking about Lewis Tate’s funeral.”

  “Tate is tod?”

  “Very dead,” said Marlene, “he hung himself.”

  “Oh, dear God. His agent must be shattered.”

  “He hasn’t had an agent in years,” said Adela. “The funeral’s the day after tomorrow in Forest Lawn Chapel, ten in the morning. He was alone, Tallulah, absolutely alone. Abandoned by everyone. Friends, family, everyone.”

  “How dreadful. I shall be there. He was very nice to me years ago in New York when I was just getting started. 1 shall certainly be at the services. Who’s catering?”

  Marlene addressed the group surrounding them. “It would be nice if some of you could attend. He gave a lot to the industry; it is so little to ask that the industry give this in return.” A few people assured Marlene they’d be there. Ramon Novarro promised to round up a group. Adela said she’d get a notice to all the newspapers, where her persuasion was very powerful. Marlene was pleased with herself and feeling very beatific. She didn’t dare admit to anyone in the immediate vicinity that she loathed funerals.